Thank you to anyone reading this :-) I hope this part is ok.
She doesn't know what she expects to happen the moment the pill slips back her throat. There's a part of her that thinks maybe she should be feel different, like some almost immediate change should happen but the reality is far different. She doesn't really feel anything. It's like she hasn't taken it, that instead of allowing it to drop in to her mouth, she'd missed and let the pill drop to the floor.
She doesn't know what she should do with herself now. She feels numb. She could go back out on to the ward and go through the motions of being a doctor once more, she'd be robotic in her assessments but at the very least it would offer her distraction from her thoughts, which she is certain will return with a vengeance soon. There is never much respite from them.
But going back out there means facing her colleagues. It means seeing Sacha and being reminded of her failure. She has to pass this, if she cannot get through these years of being forced in to surgery then she cannot go on to do with her life what she wants – and if she cannot do that where does it leave her? She has little choice but to suffer the things she hates, as a means to an end but that doesn't make it any easier to bear.
But the alternative is going home. It is returning to the empty flat once again and having to find ways of entertaining herself until the boys return – and even when they do she is likely to find ways of avoiding them. By now they would know of what happened, so by the time their shifts end, it is likely they will have talked of it in great depth. No doubt Dominic would be bemoaning how she had been chosen over him, when he would have not mucked up as she had. Perhaps Arthur would be slightly kinder, but he too would feel it the way Dominic did. The boys were so much more worthy than she.
In the end the decision is taken from her. She doesn't quite know how it happens but somehow she ends up being sent home. She thinks, in the back of her mind, it could've been Colette's doing but she dreads to think how. She lives in fear that Colette will let her secret slip, when there is nothing to tell. Not now at any rate.
Once she is home, she finds herself falling in to her bed, and falling asleep far more quickly than she has done in weeks. But it is not a sleep that is restful. It is filled with images of mama, of the past. She twists and turns in her bed sheets and wishes that she could awaken but nothing seems to draw her out of her dream world. So she has to contend with the pictures that dance in and out of her mind.
There are memories that had once been warm and comforting, but now they are twisted by her cruel mind. The images bend and alter, dance with colours that were not really there until they become terrifying creations. And then come the images that she doesn't understand. They are not memories, and yet they are familiar to her. There is mama once more in her mind, only it is not mama as she knew her nor is it mama twisted by her mind. This is mama as she never saw her. Mama weakened by the disease that would eventually claim her life. Her face a mask of pain that cannot be disguised, her eyes filled with fear and hurt. There is sadness in that face. Dry, thin lips seem to move, they speak silently her name over and over. A call for the daughter who is not there, the daughter who never came to say goodbye to her mother. When was the last time that mama had even heard her whisper a proclamation of love? It was with those words still vibrating in her ears that her mama should've slipped away and yet there had been nothing like that.
It isn't until her alarm clock blares that she is able to draw herself from those torturous images, and she finds that her pillow is damp beneath her cheek from the tears she has shed. She was selfish to let mama suffer that way, to let her go without knowing how much she mattered. She should have fought to see her more, to look passed herself and her own needs for once in her life.
This was why she shouldn't be allowed to be a mama. She wasn't like her own. She wouldn't be able to love like she had, or put someone else's needs before her own. She could barely really look after herself. If she had mama here then maybe she could have tried. She could have done it with that support but she has nothing like that now. No child should be bought in to this world unwanted.
She knows the time is not yet up, the 24 hours that she should wait to take the second pill, but somehow she needs to do it now. She slips from beneath the covers of her bed, and moves towards the bag she has carelessly thrown on a chair. As a teenager, mama had scolded her for doing so, trying to instil in her a tidiness that she never quite managed, or at least not to mama's standards. It was partly why mama made such a wonderful matron, her ward was always well managed, neat and orderly and yet there was a sense of love, of fun within that environment. She was strict and yet always approachable. Her nurses, those who she trained, were like surrogate grown children who she nurtured until they became the nurses of whom she was most proud. Each one she claimed grew to be far better than she. Though in Zosia's eyes no-one would ever quite reach the standard that her mama had set.
Digging through her bag, she found to her dismay that the pharmacy bag was missing. She must, in her hurry, have slung it back in to her locker and not her bag. She had planned to avoid work today, to get it over with here, on her own where there were no prying eyes. But now she would have to travel in with the boys.
The boys who acted like everything was normal, because what did they know. She studied them carefully, trying to take them in. What would they think if they knew? Would either of them work out whose it was and scorn her for not allowing him a part in the decision making? Perhaps they would both be stupid enough to assume it was somebody else involved, a male party neither of them knew of. That would be easier in so many ways – though easier still was neither of them ever discovering the truth.
"You coming?" Somehow they had made it in to work, though she doesn't know how and Dominic is standing in the doorway of the locker room, looking at her carefully. She tries to force a smile on to her lips, and nods her head slightly.
"I'll be right there," she responds carefully, trying to keep her voice even. She wonders if either of the boys has noticed her quietness, or perhaps she has managed to talk enough to keep their suspicions at bay. She cannot even recall what the topics of conversation had been, or what her contributions had been but she doubts it'll have been much. She barely seems to be able to function. She reaches behind her bag to pull free the one from the pharmacy and grabs out the remaining box. She repeats the actions of the previous day, taking the second pill before she disposes of the bag.
"You're back," she didn't hear the door opening, and she whirls around to find Colette standing there, a box in her arms. The nurse is smiling as she comes closer, "I was hoping to catch you on your own," there is some emotion in her voice that the near frozen Zosia cannot quite name, only it frightens her ever so slightly. In her mind's eye, she imagines the pill tracking it's way down her oesophagus and making its way in to her stomach and how her body would start to absorb it's contents, and the affect that would have. That was when the feeling had risen in her, the sickness that rolled about her stomach - something that had become familiar to her over the last few days - became much more furious. She supposed it was the reality of doing what she had. She tried to push it away, ignore it.
"Why wouldn't I be?" again she tries to keep her voice level, but its harder than she expected. She doesn't understand why it seems so different this time. She watches as Colette takes and seat on the bench and motions for her to sit down next to her. Somehow she finds her body moving though she doesn't quite know how.
"After yesterday, and with everything that's going on," it seems like Colette is talking more to herself than to the doctor, but it doesn't really matter. There is nothing going on and soon she will have to convince Colette of that, before she sees fit to spread word around, "Anyway, I have this for you," the box that the director of nursing had held is pressed against Zosia's body and she finds herself struggling to recall how to take hold of it and not let it fall to the ground and somewhat awkwardly Colette slips open the flaps at the top allowing the doctor to look at the contents.
"I don't understand," She looks down at the items inside of the box, unsure whether she really wants to look at them or not. So many of the items in there are familiar to her and yet she is near certain she has never seen them before. With a shaking hand, she reaches in to the box and allows her fingers to run over the different things it contains. Beneath everything is a blanket, thick and warm and so reminiscent of one she herself had, had in childhood. If she just closed her eyes for a second, she is certain she'd be able to feel it around her body, and mama's gentle hands tucking it in around her.
"Your mama she asked me to keep this for you," Colette's words though break through her thoughts and Zosia finds herself shivering. The blanket that she'd had in childhood had been made for her by her grandmother, it had been done painstakingly until it was absolutely perfect and she had loved it. Slowly she pulls free two of the upper items, and stares at them.
"I don't …" her hands shake. In her fingers she holds one of the smallest hats she has ever seen, its stitches less perfect in places but obviously handmade with a great deal of love, and next to it is a small teddy – again handmade but this time much neater.
"You're mama made these," just hearing those words causes Zosia's stomach to roll that little bit harder and she finds herself swallowing hard. Mama, as perfect as she was, had always bemoaned that she didn't have her own mama's skill when it came to these things. Her mama – Zosia's grandmother – had been able to make anything, no matter the skill it had required she was able to do it.
"But she …" Zosia shook her head, it didn't make sense to her and holding these things hurt. She didn't deserve them. Even the little hat with it's imperfections was perfect in her eyes.
"When she found out she was ill, she decided to learn all of those skills her mama had," Colette smiled at the memory, of her friend having spent so many hours learning to crafts, getting frustrated when things turned out less than perfect and her pride when finally she completed something, "She didn't want to just sit around and wait for death"
Zosia frowned, peering back down in to the box though she wanted nothing more than to run away. Inside were tiny socks, and little outfits, so many things that a child could treasure. These were the things that would keep mama present and known to a grandchild she would never meet. Each stitch, each thread in each item was filled with mama's love for a grandchild that hadn't even existed. Each millimetre was filled with mama. If Zosia were to hold it against her nose, would it still smell of mama? If she held it against her cheek would it be like mama's hand was pressed there too?
"She wanted her grandchildren to have these things she made," Colette continued to speak seemingly unaware of Zosia's present state, "She told me to give it to you when the time was right and now …" Only Colette couldn't finish speaking because Zosia had pushed the box away from her and dropped what she'd been holding to the ground. The F1 dashed away from the room, and the director of nursing without a word.
That was how she found herself hovering over the toilet bowl, her abdominal muscles aching from the effort of urging. She had eaten little in the last few days, for fear that she would find herself in this very position. Not that she could bring anything up now - no matter how hard her body was trying. She urges once more, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
She isn't sure what she wants to happen. If she's sick now, she cannot know how much has been taking in by her body, or whether it would be effective and she cannot be sure if that's a good or a bad thing. Her body's reaction had been so furious, that perhaps it was it's way of telling her she had done wrong in acting as she did. Perhaps the reason she was still urging now was not because of the nausea, but her way of trying to reverse the action she'd taken. But she isn't so sure she wants to reverse it.
Everything is so messed up that she cannot quite understand what is happening to her. She shouldn't be alone in a toilet cubicle, with nobody to rub at her back and to hold back her hair. There should be someone with her, to support her and to help her to feel that she isn't alone. She wants someone to wrap their arms around her body, and hold her.
But she doesn't deserve that. She doesn't deserve somebody looking after her and caring about her. It is her own fault she is here, and feeling like this. Everything about this is her fault - just as everything always is. She should face facts that the common dominator in all things that go wrong is her.
She doesn't deserve those beautiful things that mama had made either.
"You know, your mama suffered like this too," she feels Colette come to stand behind her, though she wishes she hadn't. She should be left alone, to suffer alone. She deserved to suffer. Even if she could bring up the pill, it didn't take away from the fact she'd taken the first, that the damage could already be done.
"Please don't," She doesn't want to hear about mama. She cannot let herself think of mama, and all of the work mama had put in to those things she had made.
"She was so proud when she finished that blanket," the words don't seem to register with Colette though as she continues to talk, "we all thought she wasn't going to be able to finish it, I even tried to get her to show me how so that I could, but somehow she managed it," there's something of an awe in Colette's voice as she thinks back. Only it hurts Zosia all the more, to think of her failing mother and how she had hung on in those last painful few days to finish something for her daughter. The daughter who had failed her in so many ways.
She retches once more over the bowl, and Colette's hand comes to rest on her back, gently rubbing small circles upon it.
"Your mama used to swear by something," Accepting that once more nothing was going to come up, she sits back and tries to block everything out. If only Colette would leave her be and stop talking about mama in that way. If she knew what she'd done, what was going to happen, she'd leave her alone then. Just like everybody would. "She wrote it down for you,"
"What?" She can't help herself but respond.
"In the box, she wrote everything she wanted you to know in a notebook," Zosia can almost hear the smile in Colette's voice as she thinks about it. Even when she wasn't here mama was trying to help her, to look after and support her. What would mama think of her now though? There would be nothing in the book for this, nothing in there for what you do when you've thrown everything you've been given back in the face of the one you love most – even though she is no longer here still she managed to do it.
"I can't do this," though she doesn't fully understand what this is. She doesn't understand anything anymore, she just feels lost.
"Zosia," the hand that was against her back is no longer touching her, but the young doctor can feel the way Colette has her arm hovering, as though she is locked in an internal debate as to whether she dare wrap it around the younger woman's body or just allow it to drop away.
"I can't," she tries again, but she just cannot seem to get hold of her thoughts long enough. She needs something but the one thing she so desperately wants she cannot have, and even then she doesn't deserve it.
"We need to get you out of here," Colette's voice is practical, and what she says does at least make some degree of sense. Anyone could catch them here, and that would only serve to increase any speculation as to what is going on with her. She nods her head, no longer trusting herself to form words, "good girl," it's somewhat patronising but she doesn't respond. Instead she forces herself to stand up when Colette does and to follow her stiffly as she walks out of the door.
"Ms Sheward, I think this is yours," a nameless support worker approaches them with the box in her arms, casting a curious glance in the direction of the doctor before her attention once more returns to the nurse, pressing the box against her, "I suppose a congratulations is in order," she adds brightly, eyes casting down to look at the nurse more closely though they flick quickly to the doctor once more at the almost panicked squeak that she seems to emit.
"Thank you Cara, but this belongs to a friend not me," Colette keeps her voice even, her words careful, "now if you'll excuse us, I'm sure you have work to be doing," and with that the young worker scurries off though Zosia is certain it is in the direction of a colleague with whom she'll share her latest theory and not to resume her work. But Colette is moving again, and Zosia has to follow her, though she doesn't quite know how her legs manage to carry her, or how she avoids bumping in to walls and people because her mind cannot seem to fix on to anything for more than a second. And then just ahead of her is Colette, and that box. Colette who is leading her to somewhere she doesn't know, following strange pathways that make little sense – and all she can do is trail behind.